


(Sort of) His First Kiss

by triforcelegends8



Series: The Meeting Of Sherlock Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, It's cute trust me, Kissing, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all his 35 years of life, experiments, and wonders, Sherlock has not once kissed nor been kissed by a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Sort of) His First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Part Three of TMOSH. Read as a stand alone.

In all his 35 years of life, experiments, and wonders, Sherlock has not once kissed nor been kissed by a woman. And—he begrudgingly had to admit—he was rather curious. Though, it couldn’t be much different from a man’s kiss—could it? They were all lips. What could be the difference?

Looking from a scientific side, Sherlock could argue the point that male and female lips were the same—at least the chemicals that were roused by the action of kissing, at least. However, male and female lips were different, physically, and possibly mentally to the person kissing them. Female lips were generally softer, plusher, and had a smoother texture to them as opposed to male lips, which were normally firmer and stronger. That would mean that the kisses given by each sex had to be different—right? Or did the kiss differ from person to person? Most likely, but Sherlock was looking for differences of kissing between sex, not each and every person.

One thing was for certain though- Sherlock had to know.

Sherlock sat at the table inside his favourite room at Bart’s, an untouched microscope in front of him. Unconsciously he began to touch, lick, and bite his lips while lost in thought, making them red and sensitive as his thoughts circled around lips, kissing, and men and women. His mind barely registered Molly Hooper walking in, going through a drawer, pulling out a folder with a few papers in it, and closing the drawer. With the file in hand, she turned to find Sherlock sitting stock still on a stool at the table. She stopped in his line of sight and the thought of trying to talk with him crossed her mind. When she saw how engrossed he was with his own thoughts, she shook her head and continued on her way towards the door leading out of the room.

When Sherlock finally realised Molly was in the room, he started suddenly and followed her figure with his eyes. Just as she was opening the door, Sherlock commanded loudly, “Wait.”

Slightly startled, Molly jumped a bit and stopped in her tracks. “Yes? Do you—What is It, Sherlock?” she stuttered innocently.

When she stopped, Sherlock bolted from his stool and strode quickly to where Molly was standing. He stood tall above her, simply staring down at her eyes, making no movements other than blinking his eyes and raising and lowering his chest as he breathed. He swallowed loudly and continued staring.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Molly spoke, “Is something that matter, Sherlock?” She was sincerely concerned and lowered her head to get a better look at Sherlock’s face, looking for any signs of sickness or otherwise.

“No,” he answered deeply. He was definitely contemplating something, Molly knew, but what it was she had no idea.

Slowly, Sherlock gripped the folder Molly was holding, tugged on it, persuading her to let go, and set it on the cold metal counter beside them. He then brought his hands up to clasp her upper arms, lowering his head at a sideways angle towards her head at the same time. His head continued to lower until his lips were just hovering above hers, his breath slow, steady, and smooth. While Sherlock’s breath was controlled, Molly’s was erratic. She was breathing as quickly as a deer would when it knows its life will soon end. Her quick, uneven breaths blew across Sherlock’s mouth and she closed her mouth to keep from breathing so heavily on him. He didn’t seem to notice nor care, his attention completely focused on holding them both still. They froze, neither breathing now, and stayed frozen for what was only seconds but seemed like ages.

Finally, Sherlock moved forward, their lips meeting suddenly. Molly jolted and made a _squeak_ noise in the back of her throat, muffled by Sherlock’s lips. She could feel how large and soft Sherlock’s lips were, the texture not much different than her own. The smoothness of his lips against the smoothness of her own felt like thin velvet brushing across her mouth, by all means there, but not quite graspable.

It was over in less than a second. Molly felt Sherlock’s lips tense up right before he pulled away and immediately she began thinking of all of what she just did wrong. She began to panic. Sherlock, who was still analyzing the kiss, or rather how it made him feel and affected him, did not notice Molly’s presence and panic until she mumbled “Um… Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head, scattering his thoughts and focusing on the present. “Apologies. Just an experiment,” he said quickly with a smile, oblivious to Molly’s internal problems.

He turned away from Molly, leaving the poor woman stunned beyond comparison. When he said ‘just and experiment’, Molly could feel a sharp pang in her chest. She stood completely stunned for a few moments after Sherlock turned away, feeling too used and hurt to move. Her brows creased together and she could feel all the pent up anger at Sherlock bubbling up in her chest. He vision became blurred with angry tears and her muscles bgean to tense up.

Distantly, she heard Sherlock sigh, the stool scrape across the floor, and the man’s footsteps quickly near her. “Molly,” his voice said. Molly looked up at Sherlock, the tears still in her eyes, refusing to spill. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I shouldn’t have used you like that.”

Molly mustered up enough calmness to choke out in a shuddering voice, “No, you shouldn’t have.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and sighed, annoyed. “Is there—what can I do?”

“For what?” Molly asked, finally calming down enough to think logically.

“To repay you.” Sherlock stated as if Molly was being particularly dense.

She didn’t even have to think more than one second about what she wanted him to do. “Go to lunch with me this week.”

Sherlock blinked a few times. “What?” This time, Molly looked at him like he was being dense.

“You have to go to lunch with me, you have to at least _look_ like you’re enjoying it and…” She thought a moment. Her eyes widened when she came upon the last requirement. “And _you_ have to pay.”

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at Molly before dropping his head and sighing in defeat. “Fine,” he mumbled.

Molly smiled half-devilishly, half-innocently. She had to admit, she was rather excited Sherlock agreed to her stipulations, even though he said he would pay her back. She stood smiling at him like an idiot for a few moments and wiped the smile off her face when Sherlock spoke again.

“When?” he asked mournfully, head still lowered slightly.

“Whatever day suits you best,” Molly replied while cocking her head to match Sherlock’s position with a gentle smile.

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock immediately said.

“Eleven?”

“…Sure.”

And with that, Sherlock and Molly had planned their ‘date’ (as Molly would call it) or ‘death sentence’ (as Sherlock would call it).

The date/death sentence went fine and Sherlock was actually able to learn a few new things about Molly he hadn’t bothered to learn before. For example, she had three cats at home, but because she was such a germophobe, she always made sure she didn’t have any blemishes or cat fur on her outfit. Sherlock would have never known, based on the (lack of) evidence. She also had a sick grandmother who was in Bart’s hospital care and had been for almost a year. Sherlock didn’t bother to ask what she had. He thought it might upset her and he didn’t want to deal with a crying woman in public—too personal.

When they were finished with lunch, Sherlock actually stayed a few more minutes to chat with Molly, telling her about a recent case, about Lestrade being dull again, and his current experiments, that he might or might not need a certain person’s help with. He smiled at her and winked, watching her smile softly in return. He stood from his chair at the table and bid her farewell.

He had to admit—kissing a woman wasn’t bad at all.


End file.
